You are bad for me and were not a good boyfriend. You are not my perfect match or my soul-mate. Sometimes I hate you with a passion. But then that passion morphs into something close to but different from hate.
I realise that I can’t stop tracing the lines of your face with my eyes. I see that the shape of your fingers has changed, but your eyes are exactly the same large chocolate pools. I want to swim in you, be as close to you as possible, touch you. I gravitate toward you without a conscious thought.
Then I realise my physical proximity and the effect it has on me, so I have to tear myself away. This is a conscious effort I make.
But it is agony every time I drag my eyes away from your face. HE is good to me. Very good. I love him as any girl loves a boy. But there is no passion. At least, not like what we had. I do not look into his eyes and see fire and embers. They are cool pools of water.
When I see you I want to drink in the sight of you and never look away. I relish the forbidden delight in every moment that you are in my line of vision. It is one of the hardest, most agonising actions to simply look away from you.
But I must. And I do. Every time I turn from your gaze and look into HIS, the one I have chosen, but I think of you; you and your fiery embers.